


Pink's Bruises

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [39]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: two mini fics from prompts from a list i reblogged on tumblr (originally by @spettrocoli) that my lovely friend asked me to do for mr pink ♥♥♥





	Pink's Bruises

**69 (ehehehehe):**

**“Are you hurt?”**

**“No.”**

**“Then why are there bruises all over your face?”**

You sigh, watching your boyfriend. He’s sheepishly standing in the front doorway. “Come here,” you say softly, and he saunters over to you, avoiding eye contact. Steve (or ‘Mr. Pink’, as you liked to call him) had just returned from a night out with the other guys he worked with, a few bruises present on his jaw. You hold his head in your hands, lightly pressing down on them, and he flinches at your touch. “Sorry, does that hurt, baby? How did you get these?”

“Nothin’.” He pauses as you don’t respond. “Got in a fight.”

“Wh–”

“This fuckin’ asshole at the bar was just– look, it doesn’t matter, baby, okay?” he sighs, pulling away from you. Still avoiding your eye, he takes a deep breath to collect himself. “He deserved what he got. But the fucker punched me a few times.”

“Did you–”

“Eddie broke us apart.”

You gaze up at him, his eyes finally meeting yours. A boozy smile grows on his lips– he knows you’re disappointed in him, but he also knows you can’t stay mad. “Give him my thanks,” you say after a moment’s thought. “You’re an idiot. Come on, let’s get you to bed, you alky.”

His smile not faltering for a second, Steve saunters after you to the bedroom as you rummage in the drawers for pyjamas. He flops on the bed, hands clamped over his throbbing eyes. “Fuckin’ jaw kills,” he mumbles.

Stifling a giggle, you pull out an oversized Donald Duck t-shirt for him to wear (it’s comfier for him, especially after a night out drinking). “Who do you have to blame for _that,_ sweetie?” you smile, tossing him the shirt.

“The prick.”

You shake your head and skip over to him, crawling over to him on the bed. The duvet is cold and soft beneath your legs and feet, soothing to your skin. “Baby, you gotta stop getting into fights,” you say, unbuttoning his shirt for him. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Mhm,” he nods. You know he’s not paying attention, his head’s probably pounding, but he still manages to wiggle out of his shirt. It’s like caring for a child at times– you don’t complain, though, it’s a change from his usual grumpy self.

Over the next couple of minutes, you help him get out of the rest of his clothes and into the t-shirt. He squints as you drag the duvet over you both. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You feeling okay? Need a blowjob?”

He blinks at you, dazed. “Huh?”

“I’m kidding, babe,” you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “How’s your head?”

“Spinning.”

“I’m not surprised… get some sleep. I’ll go get you some water in case you get thirsty in the night,” you say, briskly running your fingers through his hair and getting yourself out of bed. He groggily watches you leave the room and you first head to the telephone, dialling Eddie’s number (you have it on a post-it note on the fridge in case of emergencies).

Tangling the wire around your fingers, you lean against the wall and listen up. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up. “Hello?”

“Hey Ed, it’s (Y/N).”

“Oh, hey honey, did Mr. Pussy get home alright?”

You giggle. “Yeah, I just wanted to say thanks for breaking the fight up– what the fuck happened? He has bruises all over his jaw, the dumbass.”

“Did he not tell you? He slipped over and fell on his ass, the dumb prick. The floor was wet, fuck knows what it was, probably piss,” you hear him chuckle, “but either way some guy at the bar dared to laugh at him. Pink went fuckin’ nuts.”

Shaking your head, you smile. “Sounds like him. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. I’ve put him to bed now, anyway, but yeah, I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. You alright?”

“Uh-huh, did you guys have a good night besides that?”

“Yeah. Gonna be a hell of a hangover for Pink ‘n’ Blonde, though,” he replies. “I didn’t drink so much, ‘cause I had to drive Blonde home.”

“Definitely,” you smile. “I gotta go, anyways, he’s waiting for me in bed and I’m super tired.”

“Okay, get some sleep, honey. G’night.”

You smile to yourself– it’s obvious why they call him ‘Nice Guy Eddie’. “Night, Ed. Thanks again.” Hanging the receiver back on its mount, you fill up two glasses of water and return to the bedroom, carefully placing them on the bedside tables. “Here you go, sweetie,” you whisper as softly as you can.

“Thank you,” Steve mutters, half-asleep. “Love you.”

Sighing, you join him in bed, lean over and press one last kiss to his cheek. “Love you too.”

**91:**

“So why did you bring me here?” Pink asks, unsure of your intentions. He walks beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets to comfort his nervousness.

“I just wanted to say thanks for like, being a good colleague.”

“‘Good colleague’?” he repeats, laughing. “I’ve been nothin’ but an asshole to you.”

“Shut up, it’s your job to be an asshole,” you scoff, slapping his arm playfully. “I just wanted you to know I appreciate it. You looking out for me.”

“What about Brown?”

You smile, thinking back to the excitable dumbass that had chewed your ear off about Wes Craven the first time you met. “He knows I love him to bits,” you shrug. “You don’t. I just wanna make sure you know how much I like you. You’re wonderful, Pink.”

His expression softens at your words and you can almost see the guard he holds around his emotions lower. Still, he frowns to himself in confusion at the thought– it baffles him that anyone could be so kind to him. He knows he’s an asshole, which is why he doesn’t expect anything nice in return. But you’re different. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying, dumbass. You really do mean a lot, I’m just glad we got paired up. Joe’s done me a favour there.”

 _“Favour?”_ Pink stops in his tracks and looks at you, his brows knitted together. It’s not that he’s mad at you (come to think of it, he’d never been), it’s that it baffles him that someone like you could be fond at someone like him. “Why the hell would being paired with _me_ be a favour? Besides me bein’ a professional?”

The last part was him half-joking, and you smile. Even when he’s in one of his states he’s still pretty funny to watch. “You’re a softie really, you know it. Why’re you so guarded all the time? Pink, just shut up and accept the fact that I think you’re nice.”

“But I–”

“Shut! Up!”

He can’t help but break into an amused smile at this– it always impresses him when you’re assertive. In fact, he finds it cute, though he’d never say it to your face. He’s too anxious for that. “I just don’t get it,” he continues, beginning to walk again, **“all I do is drink coffee and say bad words.** But you? I dunno, you’re just– more than that.”

You watch him flailing his hands about as he rambles and don’t even try to disguise your amusement. “Christ, Pink, d’you have a hamster up your ass or something?” you giggle, looking up at him and meeting his skittish gaze. “Just– let’s go out for dinner tonight, I’ll convince you how much I like you.”

He’s stunned, you can tell by the way his face drops. Pink looks utterly horrified. Not because you’ve asked him to dinner (he’s flattered, really), but because that’s basically a date. And he’s not ready to fuck up his chance with you quite yet. Taking a deep breath, he answers you. “…sure. That– it sounds really nice. Honest.”

You smile in response, but he carries on. “But where are we gonna go? You can’t just fling this on me without details– is it seafood? Fast food chain? Fancy restaurant? Wait, am I paying? Should pick you up? Wait, what time were you thinking? I gotta be home at 9 so I can yell at my neighbour’s–”

“Pink!”

“What?”

Unable to stop chuckling, you reach up and squeeze his cheek playfully, a massive grin on your face. “Shut up.”


End file.
